


Subjugation

by saturni_stellis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Play, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/pseuds/saturni_stellis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tension between Childermass and Lascelles finally comes to breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subjugation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by various recent works regarding these two. (What can I say? We're all grade A trash when it comes to Lascelles). This is set around some time after Strange had left Norrell's apprenticeship, but before Arabella's death. Not that those facts really come up in this little story. There are however some very small "blink if you miss it" references to past Lascelles/Maria Bullworth and Lascelles/Drawlight.

It had been a long time since Mr Lascelles had felt so subjugated. In fact he had never felt so much that it had reduced him into a corner, physically pressed against a cold wall, a tall and dark looming figure coming very closely up in front of him. He tried to speak, some words of intelligence to throw him off, perhaps a quick witted quip about his pestilence over the whole situation, about how he was really doing Mr Norrell no favours by being here at all. Yes that always got to him, Norrell had turned into a fairly advantageous weapon.

 

But no words would form in his head now and he cursed his inability at forming them when his body was giving in so readily. How his brain had betrayed him! Lascelles stilled and tried to look defiant. It did him no favours, and the man who stared him square in the eye now only smirked. It was that smirk that Lascelles had seen many times before, in the corner of the library, in the darkness of a carriage ride. It was the sort of smirk that had Lascelles clenching his fists at his side – the small tug of lips at the side of a face that had the gentleman conjuring up the most violent imagery against this servant. The thought of tearing it off his face with a knife amused Lascelles to the point of him becoming hot under the collar. He scowled up at him in response.

 

Lascelles half wished now for some interruption. One of Norrell’s hall boys perhaps, or even Drawlight! What a queer notion that was, Lascelles thought in hindsight. Drawlight was long gone now, probably rotting away on the King’s Bench along with all the other scum London had to offer. People rarely asked about him anymore after they saw the look it conjured up in Lascelles’ eyes whenever his name was mentioned.

 

However, now his situation was a slight more trifling than he’d expected. Pressed tightly against the wall, his cravat suddenly seemed to be suffocating him of air. Had he tied it particularly tight this morning? He didn’t think so… No he was sure it was down to this… this thing opposite him, breathing heavy, snarling into his face like a rabid dog.

 

Pursing his lips, Lascelles swallowed before opening his mouth to speak, but was silenced almost very suddenly by a rough finger pressing against his face. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes suddenly went very wide.

 

“No Sir.” the servant said gruffly. “I would advise, for now, against speaking.”

 

Lascelles swallowed again but dare not move his lips for fear of them brushing against the fingertip. He did not want to cause any more physical friction than was necessary. Is that what was going to happen here? Was this the Northern way of asserting dominance? Norrell certainly did take it upon himself to stand considerably close to Childermass when they were discussing matters of importance. Perhaps Northerners had not quite grasped the etiquette of personal space. Perhaps Lascelles had brought this on himself, his palm still stinging from where it had struck Childermass across the face almost minutes before. 

 

Ah yes… that was how they had got here. There had been a black spot in Lascelles’ memory, from standing above Childermass to suddenly being cornered and feeling very small.

 

But it all came back to him in a sudden rush now, for it had all happened so quickly. Childermass making some derogatory remark about his book, (or was it Strange’s review…?), Lascelles hitting him across the face, and then this…

 

He had always been warned about his temper, or rather cautioned against it. He lost it easily if he was twisted in the right ways, but Lascelles had trained himself over many years to suppress these urges, and that had resulted in his cool demeanour which he had been so eloquently praised for in adulthood.

 

But as a young man, temper was his only outlet. Now it was regularly revisited. He told himself it was the likely stress of having employment. The reality was standing in front of him.

 

The downside of having a temper; which was always a downfall during his childhood in particular; was the cause it had of losing all inhibitions of his physical control.

 

Tensions between Lascelles and Mr Norrell’s man of business had been rising over the last year since Strange had departed, and like a tightening rope between two pillars, the more it was pulled taught, the more it was likely to snap. This was the final thread…holding on merely by a few strands as Childermass leant his head forward and their noses touched.

 

What was he going to do? Use magic on him? Lascelles had seen him use magic before, in the hallway of Hanover Square moments before taking a bullet in the chest. He was sure he’d seen him mutter spells in the dark corners of the drawing room on occasion. Was this to be the ultimate fate of Mr Lascelles? A magical experiment at the hands of a _servant_?

 

No. Childermass was not quite so cunning, he knew him well enough by now for that. It was to be physical then...

 

A beating maybe, to match his own. Lascelles hadn’t hit him _that_ hard. If Childermass was planning to retort with such violence Lascelles was sure he could handle it. He had handled worse. But Childermass didn’t seem that type. Perhaps a different kind of physical punishment...

 

Lascelles found his body was giving up on him. Slowly he was succumbing to the inevitable forces that overpowered his mind. He pulled his head back so his lips were no longer in contact with Childermass’ finger and brought his feet together on the floor. If he couldn’t stop his body from releasing this so called unavoidable surrender to what should’ve been a temper outburst, then he would at least try to conceal it.

 

Childermass was, as Lascelles suspected, far too inquisitive not to notice, and Lascelles need only flicker his gaze down to his own crotch, for Childermass to follow and stare at the wet stain that now appeared there.

 

“Well…” Childermass said quietly. He did not smirk or laugh as Lascelles had expected, but merely looked curiously at it, as though it were a thing of fascination. As if the man had never seen piss in his life before. Lascelles clenched his jaw and felt his cheeks burn red. He would have his own revenge in time, something delicious and brilliantly depraved. But for now, all he could do was stand still as his breeches soaked in his own urine.

 

Surely that was to be it; Lascelles’ humiliation quite clear now to both of them. Childermass’ cheek sure to still be stinging from it’s administered blow. But Childermass, it seemed, was not going to cave in yet, and with one hand he leant it on the wall next to Lascelles’ head.

 

The other hand, very suddenly, and with precise movement, came down in between Lascelles’ legs and his palm opened and closed tightly around Lascelles’ prick, forcing the man to let out a loud sound in pure surprise. The act, albeit utterly inappropriate and positively vile, threw Lascelles so off guard that his manly instinct was to instantly react to the touch, and his prick twitched in Childermass’ hand.

 

He gasped and looked down at the hand upon him. How long had it been since another hand was upon him in such a way? Maria…Drawlight…and even they were _so_ long ago…many years before Norrell was even a name known in London. But now here he was, a large hand, resting against him in a grip quite forceful but not at all uncomfortable. His hips jolted; again an instinctual reaction; and at this, the hand moved, only slightly to stroke his prick to life.

 

Lascelles held his breath. His breeches were wet, making everything look that little bit more defined, and so when Childermass moved his hand again, the cock growing heavy and hard in it, seemed rather a lot bigger than it would be had it been covered under dry cloth.

 

Without taking his eyes off his own hand, Childermass said “You astound me, Sir.”

 

Lascelles released a breath, and because he’d held it for a moment too long, with it came a small whimper. Lascelles was completely surrendered. Childermass rubbed him some more until he was fully erect. Part of him wanted to take Childermass’ hand and slap it away, scream at him until his throat was sore, until there were tears in his eyes… the other part of him wanted to take Childermass’ hand and push it inside the placket of his breeches so he could feel the heat of his skin rubbing against him.

 

This latter thought had Lascelles jolting his hips forward again and this time Childermass growled quietly. In satisfaction? In disgust? Lascelles was unsure…he had not heard that noise before… had not had time to assess it. He didn’t like not knowing. He tried again, and sure enough Childermass let the sound escape his throat and this time looked up so their eyes met.

 

Lascelles closed his eyes quickly. The look that burned into him was not one he would forget quickly but it was one he did not want to look at for any longer than was necessary. What was that look exactly? Hunger…? Lust? No…it can’t have been.

 

His cock was hard now. Very hard. And Childermass had an extremely skilled grip that made the other man wonder how many times he had done this before.

 

He opened his mouth, and risked letting out the next few words, trying not to let his voice quiver.

 

“And is this the sort of thing a Yorkshireman does on the streets is it? Whoring himself out to scrap together pennies for his next meal?”

 

Lascelles did not have to open his eyes to know Childermass was inches from him when he spoke to answer him. “Forgive me Sir, but from where I’m standing right now, it is not I who looks like the whore.”

 

Lascelles opened his eyes then, if only just to look up at him with the rage encased within him. His emotions did him no favours for his physical state, and he grew harder still, thrusting forward when Childermass pressed more firmly against him.

 

“You bastard.” Lascelles breathed. “I’ll have you… flogged…” he was starting to pant as Childermass relentlessly moved his hand against him, circling a thumb every now and then, fingers clasping at his balls through the moist fabric. “…you sordid little….you unworthy…”

 

Childermass leant forward, pushing Lascelles legs apart by the knees with his own, pressing his arousal against Lascelles’ thigh, forcing a small sound out of the two of them.

 

The servant’s mouth came to rest just above Lascelles’ ear. “And do you not feel sordid now Sir?”

 

Lascelles tried not to let his eyes roll back in his head. If Childermass kept up the rhythm it would soon have his excitement come to a climactic end. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more, for it to be over so he could feel it rush out of him or for it to come to a premature stop. Childermass continued to speak.

 

“Does it feel good Sir? To be sodomised in such a manner?”

 

Lascelles licked his lips and tried to ignore the feeling of Childermass' own arousal against his thigh. “Sodomy would require a mouth…” Lascelles said suddenly, making Childermass pause momentarily to turn his head and look at him. “…or an arse hole.”

 

The smirk appeared again, and this time Lascelles only found himself slightly angered by it. That was a considerable improvement.

 

The hand began to move again, and the pause had only made matters worse…and now Lascelles found himself beyond that point of self control. It was why, when Childermass’ hand that had been against the wall came to clasp his chin, he made no reaction but to moan quietly.

 

“And I do wonder how that would feel, Sir. Your greased backside around my prick. Would you permit me to fuck you I wonder…?”

 

Lascelles was close to his end, the tension inside his stomach coming to breaking point. “I would permit no such thing.” he said, his lips pushed together slightly by the grip Childermass had on his face. At that he released – the thought of it quite obviously pushing him over the edge.

 

He spent suddenly, into Childermass’ hand through the fabric of his breeches, soaking in with the urine, making an abominable mess as he shuddered through it, allowing a small sound to release deep from within his throat as Childermass’ hand rode him until he was soft again.

 

“Well, Mr Lascelles, you intrigue me further.” Childermass said coolly, pulling away from him slowly, studying his hand as if it were a piece of paper with instructions.

 

Lascelles eyed Childermass’ tenting breeches briefly before deciding the servant could take care of it himself.

 

“I will see to it that you are punished for this Childermass.” Lascelles said finally, after straightening himself out.

 

“Is that so? Well Sir, I anticipate your retort with baited breath.”

 

Lascelles’ scowl was back. The sarcasm in Childermass’ voice was unbearable but he was far too tired and far too messy to drum up any kind of response. Instead he left swiftly and quietly calculated his next move of vengeance in the carriage ride home.

 

The tension was snapped. Now there was nothing holding them back.

 


End file.
